A Huntress and a Lady
by Jen Littlebottom
Summary: Perhaps 'tis better to be fondly remembered by but one creature in all of Arda, then let History do with your memory what it will. The life of Haleth, daughter of Haldad, and that of the people who bore her name...
1. Chapter 1

A/N:  The world belongs to Tolkien, the words alone are mine.

_"Although the records of the Haladin have been long since shrouded in shadow, secondary sources have given us excellent, although incomplete, information on the life of its most famous lady.__  Haleth, daughter of Haldad and twin sister to Haldar, was from a young age a leader at heart, and we can only imagine that she was as gracious and dignified a young lady as she was later a strong and honourable leader, the greatest treasure of her people…"_

_                                                -From 'Lives of the Haladin', by Gelmir of Dol Amroth_

"Haleth!  Give it back!"

"Never, orc-spawn!"

It was a wet spring, and Thargelion was lush and green, bursting with life.  Men looked to the skies and gave thanks to Yavanna – the winter drought and the time of fasting was over, and this year's harvest would be a bountiful one.

The two children currently racing across the grass, leaving muddy streaks in the green, were of an age, and of similar height and build.  The one in front, covered with mud from top to toe and hugging a small object to her chest, was Haleth.  The one behind, similarly mud-splattered, was her brother, Haldar.

A heavily pregnant woman looked up from the clothes she was mending and sighed.  "Haldad, do something about your children, would you?  Preferably _before they do any serious damage to either themselves or my gardens?"_

"Of course, my love."  Haldad put down his axe and covered the distance between the logpile and the children, now wrestling perilously close to the newly planted herbs, in a mere four strides.  His method of separating the two was simple – he grabbed one child in each great hand, and pulled.

"Now, are these my children?  I fear I cannot tell, under all the dirt.  Perhaps they should tell me what happened, before I throw them in the river to clean them up?"

"Haldar hit me!"

"Father, she started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Haldar, did you hit your sister?"

A shy nod.  "Yes.  But she started it.  She took my knife, and she will not give it back."

"Haleth?"

Now released from her fathers grip, she crossed her arms and pouted.  "Fine.  I took it.  But it isn't fair that he gets a knife.  I want one too – I can run faster than him, and I can fight better."

Haldad had to smile despite himself.  It seemed that instead of a son and a daughter, the Valar had gifted him with two sons.  "Haleth, give your brother his knife back.  And once you have both cleaned all that mud off, you may each have a knife.  Will that solve the problem?"

Two near-identical faces grinned up at him, and nodded.

"Very well.  But if I catch you two fighting again, you will spend the next month helping your grandmother with the weaving."

This was a grievous threat indeed; the pouts came briefly back, but soon they were flying off down to the river, shrieks of laughter drifting back towards their parents.

"My two little hunters." laughed Haldad.

"You should not encourage her so," grumbled his wife.  "I can only hope that this one," patting her belly, "is a young lady, not another boy-creature to muddy up my home and destroy my garden."

"Ah, but if Haleth grows up to be half as beautiful as her mother, she will not need to know how to cook and sew to find herself a husband."

"Fool," she replied, glaring, but smiled despite herself.  "I hope you are right, because the day she sits still long enough to learn embroidery will be the day _you become an Elf-Lord."_

Down by the river, Haleth and Haldar laughed and tumbled into the water, enjoying the brief freedom of the afternoon.  Soon they would be called back, to help with a myriad of chores; until then they played at being warriors and orc-hunters, looked for treasure on the river bed, and washed the mud off.

-----

That night, Haleth could not sleep.  She kept slipping her new knife out from under her pillow, to look at it.  Now she could be a real hunter at last!  Haldar was asleep, making strange snorting noises.  But they were not loud enough to bother her, nor to disguise the sudden flurry of activity she could hear outside.

Quietly getting out of bed, and slipping the covers back over Haldar so he would not wake up and spoil things, she peeked around the corner of the door, only to jump back in surprise.

Laerneth was there!  Haleth, like most of her friends, was deathly afraid of the old Wisewoman, who, it was said, knew Elf-magic and could talk to spirits.  She certainly had no patience for the antics of children – Haldar and Haleth had learnt that more than once.

Haleth put her ear to the door.

"It is early.  Very early, Haldad.  The child should not come into this world for another two cycles of the moon, but we will do what we can."

"Will she… will they be…"

"I cannot say.  Not yet."

"What can I do?"

Haleth had never heard Father sound so helpless, Father who was always strong and knew everything, everything there ever was to know.  What had Laerneth done?

"Keep out of the way.  This is women's business.  And pray, Haldad.  Pray."

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and Haleth could swear she heard her mother cry out.  When she looked back around the door, Laerneth was nowhere in sight, and her father was sitting against the wall, his head in his hands.

She wondered if she should go out and talk to him, but just as she stepped out towards him more women came bustling in through the door, among them her Aunt Caltha, who spotted her immediately and herded her back to bed.

Haleth lay looking up at the ceiling, wondering what was going on.  Was Mother ill?  Father had looked so worried.

After a time, she snuck back out.  Laerneth was talking to Father, and he was crying, openly.  She ran out, yelling at her.  "What did you do to Father!  You made him cry!"

Laerneth looked like she might yell, or even hit Haleth, but instead she replied

"You, child, will need to learn to curb that temper of yours."

She left, sweeping out with her stinky bundles of herbs and potions.  Her aunts were at the doorway to Mother and Father's bedroom, watching silently, their eyes also wet with tears.

"Father?"

"My little huntress." he said, sweeping her up into a hug.  "We have to go wake your brother and then have a talk."  He looked up at Caltha, and some silent agreement passed between them.

"We will look after her." she said, and the Aunts went back into Mother's room, closing the door behind them.

"Haldar will not like being woken." she told her father, trying to wipe the tears away from his eyes.

"I imagine not." Father replied, kissing her forehead.

Spring is a time of life and renewal, when Yavanna fills the world with newborn creatures, and coaxes all the flowers into bloom.  But wherever there is life, there is death; it is said the spring rains are the tears of Nienna, weeping for Arda Marred.  And Namo stands ever at the gates of his Halls, welcoming all who come to him, released from sorrow and the bounds of flesh.  In the end all shall be reunited, set free upon Arda Remade.  So the elders say, when they tell us not to weep.

Haleth knew none of this, though.  After all, she was but eight years old.

A/N:  This is all Lyllyn's fault - well, at least the Nuzgul was.  Then Gelmir of Dol Amroth, a pompous ass of a historian if ever there was one, hopped into my head and wouldn't leave.  So I wrote this.

I am not sure about the format of Haladin names, so anyone with more information, feel free to jump on me if I've made some horrendous mistakes.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:  The world belongs to Tolkien, the words alone are mine.  Oh, and poor young Caldir, Dalmar, Caltha, and suchlike are mine also.  As is Gelmir, the pompous ass.

_"Haleth was a woman of most singular purpose.  In fact, she bore many characteristics we may describe as 'male' – her love of and talent in the arts of war, her ability to inspire and lead warriors, and her ability to put aside personal interests in times of strife..  Never did she marry; one can only conclude that from an early time she had her mind on higher things, and unlike most other young women, was never concerned with the finding of a husband and the begetting of children."_

_                                                -From 'Lives of the Haladin', by Gelmir of Dol Amroth_

"Ow.  Orcs and Spiders, Haleth, that hurts!"

"Don't be such a baby, Caldir.  Let me see."

Caldir winced, and peeled up his sleeve.  Beneath, a large bruise was forming, mottled blue and black.  Haleth sighed.

"I'm sorry, Caldir.  I didn't realise I was so hard on you yesterday.  You've got bruises all over."

"I think I _am a bruise.  You're getting too good for me."_

Haleth raised an eyebrow.  "What do you mean, getting?  I surpassed you long ago, slowpoke."

"My lady, you do me injustice!" Caldir grinned.  "I'm still far better than you with the bow."

She made an unladylike noise of disgust at the mention of her one failing in the martial arts.  "Do not remind me, Caldir.  I made a fool of myself last time."

Caldir watched as her gaze drifted, inevitably, towards Dalmar.  Dalmar, in Caldir's opinion, was a bully, and an oaf.  But every girl for three leagues seemed to think he was the greatest man to ever walk the earth.  So handsome, so wonderful.  Tall as an Elflord!

"What did you say?" asked Haleth.  Wonderful, he'd been thinking out loud again.

"Nothing.  Your hair looks nice."

"What?"  She stared at him as if he'd grown another head.

He nodded towards the little braids that adorned her head. "Your hair looks nice like that."

"Oh."  Her hand flew to her head.  "Beleth did it this morning.  I guess she got bored."

"Do you think her and your brother will get married soon?"

"I guess." said Haleth, stretching her legs out before her.  "It seems strange to me.  They've only seen seventeen rounds of the sun, same as you and me."

"So you don't want to get married yet?" he asked, heart in his chest.

"Why, are you proposing?" she laughed.  Yet her gaze drifted back to that dratted Dalmar.  "I guess not.  I'd want to be sure.  Really sure."

He was about to say something, but he couldn't think of what.  Quick as a flash, she was on her feet, flicking her braided hair over her shoulder.

"Race you to the river!"

By the time he was to his feet, she was already off and running, hair streaming out behind her.  He laughed, and took off after her.

He knew he wouldn't catch her, but that didn't matter.  Because he was sure.

Really sure.

-----

Caltha watched her niece run up from the river, bare-footed and clothing askew, and sighed.  Haleth was tall for a woman – too tall, Caltha would have said – and broad shouldered and muscled in a way no young lady had a right to be, the result of her training as a warrior.  Caltha had thought for a long time that her brother ought to put a stop to his daughter's behaviour.  Teaching the girl to hunt was one thing – too often these years they had too many days of winter, and too few hunters to see them through.

But training her with a sword!  This was one of many things upon which Caltha had Opinions.  It was a pity that Haldad couldn't be convinced to agree with her.  But then again, her younger brother always had been a stubborn one.  His children looked as if they would more than follow that trend.

She sighed, and called out.  "Haleth!  Over here, please!"  Her niece changed direction mid-pace, her movements as smooth as any elf-child, making young Caldir look like an unwieldy foal beside her.  All arms and legs, that boy was.  A good lad, though.  Her eyes narrowed.  That wouldn't be a bad match, either.  Haleth would never be _pretty, and she shouldn't set her sights too high.  Perhaps Caltha should have a talk with Haldad one of these days._

At least Haldar had that Beleth girl.  There'd be pretty grandchildren for Haldad out of that marriage.  Though they'd need to be strong too.  The winters grew colder, the nights longer, the orcs bolder.  There was trouble a-coming, or the ache in her bad hip lied.

For a moment she imagined she saw Haleth wielding an axe stained with the black taint of orc-blood, standing over the bodies of her father and brother.  She shook herself out of it as Haleth came bounding up.  Dark thoughts ne'er did anyone any good.

"There's a brace of hares your father caught that need skinning."

Caldir offered to help, of course, but was drawn away by his own mother, called off to chop wood for the fire.  That left Haleth to the repetitive knife work, but she was soon joined by others – Caltha rounded up a couple of her daughters and they made quick work of it.  The hares were winter-lean, but they'd make good eating – better than mere grains and leaves, the stubble of the earth.  For the moment stilled, hair tied back, chatting with her cousins, she looked calm, at peace.

She looked like her mother, and Caltha felt the resemblance like a blow.  If only they'd been quicker – if only Laerneth had been able to turn the babe – if only the Valar had been more kind to them, then Haleth might have known the gentling influence of a mother's touch.

"You should wear your hair like that more often." she murmured, curling her fingers around a braid.  Haleth looked up and shrugged.

"Beleth did it."  She set the last skin aside, handing the rabbits over to Caltha's eldest to prepare dinner.  Caltha knew better than to let Haleth cook.  "Keeps it out my face, I suppose, but they're so fiddly."

Caltha, having tried a thousand times to teach Haleth to take care of her hair, all in vain, just nodded and smiled, absentmindedly chopping the few vegetables they'd managed to round up for the stew as they chatted.  Questions about Caldir could wait for later; it was seldom that she managed to get her niece to sit still long enough to talk to her at all.  A rare thing, to be treasured.


End file.
